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[D&amp;D 4E IC] Residuum Revolution Strange- Outlaws!

In the year 250, a powerful force rises against the mystical chains that binds it. In the ensuing revolution and change of government, magic and the powers that once enforced an arcane brotherhood is brought under the heel of martial and primal might. The earth itself heaves up and overthrows the Eladrin oppressor.

Now, in the year 302, fonts of arcane wisdom have dried up. The fey and the rituals associated with them are anathema. Only the clergy have access to rituals, and children born with fey blood are immediately killed to prevent contamination. Veiled arcane heretics wander in the wilderness, and are slain on sight by a group of primal enforcers known as the nk’bara. Prince Almarak, the Dragonborn son of a long line of paladins who have ruled the country since the chaos of the revolution, is a religious extremist who controls the populace through brute force. This is Ydria, Land of the Emerald Crown.

However, a group of dissidents have risen up. Though some fear the stories of days long past when magic bound the people into servitude, others question whether they have exchanged one tyranny for another. Can magic be used to serve the people? And what of the rumors of fey refugees in other lands uniting to take Ydria back?

Posts

It is the same dream, the same beautiful eyes calling you to the place of pain, the place in the black heart of desire or fear or despair. Green as jade or jealousy, her robes swirl around her in the wind under the dark mountains, and you follow her. She opens a stone door in the hills and you follow her down marble steps to a tomb. The name on the tomb is yours. She turns to you, and then slowly lowers her veil, whispering the word, “Colnanthra”.

You wake up. The sweat on your brow is chilling now, as your eyes flash open in the darkness. You are in this county jail, waiting for the locals to decide what to do with you. You are not alone- there are a few of you in this cell, and a few in the cell across the hall. You came here on your travels, and the locals, not liking the looks of you, decided you were a threat. You are. You must escape. You feel compelled to know more about the nightmare that has been haunting you. You are searching, and you find yourself here.

"This is an unlawful detention, and I demand to be released immediately!"

Tordain received no answer once more, not that he was expecting one. It had been the same since he had come to this place. The locals seemed wary of strangers, and in these dark times he understood. So when they had requested both his business and his weapon, he gave both willingly. What he had not expected was to be thrown in a cell with these ruffians. Him! An ordained brother of the Church of Civilization!

Perhaps it was just as well he did not have his hammer, for these walls were certainly not of Dwarven make, and he would hate to do so low a thing as escape from a prison until it became necessary.

Ilesombra glances over at the direction of the dwarf. Great. Locked up with a disciple of Erathis. What, no Iounites in the area?. The paladin props herself up on the bed with one arm, cradling her face with her palm.

"I was passing through this hovel to resupply when I was tossed in here. I assume we were all locked up for the same reason: daring to wear something not covered in filth or smelling like a wet ox," Ilesombra says loudly, in the direction of where the guards last were.

The human man on the cot seemed to be well at home. He lay with a relaxed pose - his arms behind his head and his legs slightly crossed. Prison cells were nothing new to him, he'd been in similar situations before.

He opened one eye lazily as the dwarf began to below. A slight grin crosses his lips as he regards him.

"'Tis nothing but a thing friend..." His words were thick with an accent from the south.

"Traveling is hard 'dese days, hopefully you have the coins t' spare when the jailer comes a calling. If not..." He shrugs slightly emphasizing his point. "'Den it's not much of a thing to work out a deal, No?"

The rakish man appears to relax even more at that. "If not, we will simply leave... Relax friend, I am not so sure the jailer will respond well to bellowing"

With that he closes his eye again, the slight grin seems a permanent feature to his 5 o'clock shadow.

"I think it is obvious why I am here," Ladej Cai says, accent rough and thick with Primordial. "World-born are fools who have forgotten their origin. They have forgotten genasi." The corona of flame around his head flared slightly.

Used to being ignored, Mnemo assumes it is not included in the discussion and continues to meditate, pondering the visions of the green-clad woman. Its crystalline form is currently a neutral shade of greyish-blue, with the usual marble-like black swirls throughout. Curious despite itself, however, the psion does subtly observe its cellmates, surprised at their variety.

A bald human sat on the floor, legs crossed, fingers tracing bizarre letter-like patterns in the dust, eyes... seemingly fixed upon something outside the cell. Or possibly the building. His mind seemed to drift off for a moment as his fingers hovered over the dust.

exploitable features of the prison -- its physical nature or the behavior of the guards, whichever you find most appropriate, dani -- Insight: 1d20+727

"...and so stories are what will get you out of here. All is created in the story. Draped in myths as real as green... smells... while yesterday slept. It's... unfortunately damp in here."

The statement... or whatever it was... was met with an initial silence.

Elias frowns for a moment at the bald man before his usual grin returns "A've got one about a goblin an' a shoe. Doesn't turn out too well for the shoe, 'f you ask me." He shrugs and looks off in the direction the human was staring a moment before before quirking an eyebrow.

"A bit muggy, yes. 'could use some fresh air now that you mention it." His forehead creases as he regards the bars and looks a bit frustrated.

Tordain looked about the room at his companions. A being of fire, one of stone, and two that at least looked almost normal, though that meant little enough these days.

"The name's Tordain Silverpact, of the southern Silverpacts. If you have all been needlessly imprisoned on your way elsewhere as I have, then I will see you released shortly. The people here are easily frightened, but they will surely listen reason. After all, my brothers would not take well to one of their own locked up without reason."

Tordain sat back to wait, taking a closer look at the man made of stone. It didn't look of dwarven make, but what else was capable of such a feat?

Noticing the dwarf's attention, Mnemo becomes even more still. The soft internal light bouncing within its crystalline facets dims and it floats a soft mental suggestion towards Tordain, the construct cannot possibly be that interesting. If it was anything worth paying attention to, would it be locked up in a county jail?

"Reason. When your family is told you carry fairy dust, how much reason will they have?" Ladej eyed the crystalline elemental--of course that's what it was, but what was it doing here?--but said nothing to or about it. Tame elementals were usually not worth caring about.

Ilesombra rolls her eyes and tries to formulate a plan of escape while these fools prattle on about nothing. She takes a quick scan of the room to see if she can find a means to bash a guard or slip out of the cell unnoticed.

Above is your map. Ladej has no pic; Mnemo's pic is not working, so if you don't want to be red dots forever, send me a pic. Thick black lines are walls, brown lines are doors, thick grey lines are barred cell walls. There is also a cell door in the middle between the two cells which is a darker grey. All I can say is, poor country planning.

Elias:

Your hands seem so sweaty...

Ilesombra:

No good openings that you can see. For being poor planners, they seem to have pretty good construction. Maybe that cell door in the middle of the room would be a good thing to check out though. It can't be a good plan to put a door in the middle of two cells.

Ilesombra hops up from her bunk and makes her way over to the bars of the cell.

"Oh, guards, guards! I'm feeling very faint; could one of you big strong handsome fellows bring me some water? I feel like I might just fade away. If it gets any hotter in here, I might have to strip down to nothing at all!"

She tried to sound as seductive as possible, given her current predicament and the loonies she was stuck with.

The door leading to the cell behind you seems oddly placed. The guards seem like soft townies that your vast intelligence would easily overcome. You've been hearing them discuss farting, for example.

One of the guards (the one nearest the door) perks up. "Hey, Tommy," he says. "It's a damsel in distress!" He snickers for a bit, and then shouts, "Hold yer knickers there gal, ye'll be fine fer a bit."

He glances over at the companion sitting facing him. "Hey Tommy, what say we wait a bit an then see if she faints. She looks pretty strong. No use wrassling around with her too much. I like em sedate if ye know what I mean." He licks his chops in anticipation.

Tommy (at O9/10) seems pretty bored with this conversation. "Ya, ya Vic. The usual story." He goes back to filing his fingernails.

The final guard gets up and looks at the prisoners. "You all are a bunch of weirdos. When the nk'bara get here, they'll see to you good. He looks over at Vic. "But before they get there, I'm down for seconds once the little lady passes out."

The human stood, and calmly walked (a bit wobbly... part of his personal effects unfortunately had to be eaten when he was captured) to the dwarf... who looked to be plenty sturdy and sober. He leaned over and tried to act casual.

"Ah, good Rogaine my dear morning, sir. I --"

"It's Tordain. And it's evening."

" -- which is possibly what I meant. I think you'll find that door over there more interesting than the rock. The door and the rock are similar though... the rock is not a rock... and the door isn't a door. The function, you know. I'm sure you'd find it fascinating."

Let's get a nice ambient heat going. "Hot" by the standards of a guy who's comfortable living in a house literally made of fire. You could cook on the ground, here. Bring a Dark Sun character into the building and they're gonna go "damn it's hot."

Your keen dwarf eyes see that the whole wall of iron bars was added later, and then as an afterthought the door was sawed out and put in place on hinges. The whole thing looks like poor craftsmanship. If someone was a mason or a carpenter, they could probably point out all the defects in construction.

"God, it is hot!" shouts Vic. "Harry, get the captain! I think that weirdo fire guy is setting his bunk on fire!"

The third guard runs into the adjoining room.

There is a second or two before they come back. Do you want to do anything else?

"Aye, get your captain before it's too late, boys! I'm in no mood to be cooked this evening." Tordain looked at the gathered group, trying to discern which one might be able to leverage sufficient muscle against the middle door.

More quietly, to his fellow prisoners, "This door here is poorly made, a solid strike in the right spot would bring it down. These aren't prison guards, these are common bounty hunters and thugs dressed in false finery. You can count on my hammer."

Harry and a Dragonborn cop in a nice chainmail uniform with the city colors emblazoned on the front roll up to the door in the front cell and the commander proceeds to shout at Ladej as he smashes against it:

"Stop that you foul arcane spawn! Don't you have the sense to know that you will destroy yourself?"

As Ladej flies back from the door, he sees that he has bent one of the hinges.

"Don't talk to my breath like that, you Troglodytes! This is clearly Harry's fault. This place is a tinderbox, and then you have him sitting over there with all the fire kits like he was some sort of Flint Baron! it was only a matter of time!"

He'd been in enough fights to see this one coming, and he could only hope it was brutal and short. While the other guards were certainly a threat, Tordain kept his eyes on the Dragonborn as he began his prayers.

"Cornerstone of Civilization, see fit to deliver your servant from these corrupters of the people's faith..."

He reached for his sword only to realize it was no longer on his person. No matter! He would instead utilize his formidable arsenal of unarmed fighting skills. After he had developed them, of course. He considered that it might take him a moment or two to for him to do so.

Ladej Cai barked a laugh as he climbed back to his feet. "I have climbed Solkara's glacier. I have basked in Mual-Tar's fury. I have lived in the City of Brass. And you think a door is a threat to me? You will learn otherwise as that world-forged mail of yours melts through your skin." He charges the door again.